Epiphany's Child
by Servant of Fire
Summary: AU Hiatus. In which Hiatus doesn't end. In which John goes in Mycroft's place to rescue Sherlock out of Serbia. In which the Orphans of Epiphany are captors in need of saving. In which Sherlock needs saving from himself. Warning: This story is very dark...Rated T for mentions of torture, and mildly disturbing situations, involving children. For entertainment purposes only.
1. Prolouge

**Epiphany's Child~**

**To the Epiphany, the vision of solace that does not exist in this World...**

** Prolouge~**

_Mycroft set down his tea cup. John eyed his fish and chips with a disinterested glare._

_"You know, I'm not hungry , would you like the rest of this?"_

_Mycroft licked his lips ,uncertainly. _

_"You'll need to eat, and rest, and gather an abundant amount of energy if you are to do what I ask of you...What your country asks of you..."_

_John set down the cup of tea he'd been working on._

_"What ...does...my country need from me, now?"_

_Mycroft could hear the barely ,respectfully, controlled bitterness in his tone. The country that he had lived the hell of Afghan combat for,and was shot to pieces for , was the self-same country that drove Sherlock Holmes to the grave._

_"Since the death of James Moriarty,...my ...assistants... have been working to take down his criminal Network. Together said Network is planning an act of terrorism, that could be a genocide of the English people..._

_Up until now, I have not spoken of this to you,because I had promised...an... agent...of mine...that I would not involve you unnescesarily...That I would keep you alive, keep you safe. Which was, actually, his...last wish..."_

_John was silent ,for a long time. _

_"Who? Who among your people would ,first off, KNOW me, and second, ask for my personal safety as his...final...wish?"_

_Mycroft licked his lips..._

_"You're talking about Sherlock aren't you?!" John hissed, leaning forward. "You KNEW he was going to jump. He had an ulterior motive...I've always known that something wasn't adding up...That it was somewhat out of character for him to just...give up...and ..." he bowed his head, fuming with a barely bridled rage. "You KNEW..." he whispered..._

_And then,his fist collided with the table. Mycroft felt his jaw clench, having expected the soldier's fury. Having need of it, actually..._

_"So, why...didn't you stop him?"_

_Mycroft swallowed, and began to explain._

_"John, you are going to have to listen VERY carefully to what I am about to tell you."_

_"I've got ALL night..." he hissed, leaning forward. Mycroft nodded._

_"When Sherlock went up on the roof, to have one final confrontation with Moriarty, he ...anticipated something like a forced suicide. It was to be the solution to their "Final Problem", which is what Moriarty was calling the struggle between the two of them, who were exact mirror images of each other, save that one was on the side of angels, and one wished to fan the flames of hell ,to cast its glare upon himself..."_

_John nodded, listening to a frightening intensity. Mycroft swallowed harder, "What Sherlock did NOT know...was that Moriarty would have three snipers trained to his only three friends in the world. He had failed to factor in Molly Hooper, although she would prove to be important later. The three he targeted, were Mrs. Hudson...Detective Inspector Lestrade,...and...yourself."_

_John's eyes squinted, confused, and he shook his head, lips forming a silent "What?"_

_Mycroft swallowed, "There was no way out of comitting suicide. If Sherlock didn't jump, you would have died. However, he anticipated this might happen, as I said. So, he conspired with Molly Hooper, and myself, a plan of possibly surviving this suicide. I am ...uncomfortable with informing you of this, but the methods at which we did this,were still of an extreme risk to him. There is... no way in which one can safely avoid death by falling from so tall a building. ... The methods that we were to use...MAY have...killed him. Molly Hooper provided the neccesary materials, one of which was a drug that would lower his pulse enough to slow down the flow of his blood, if the wire device we used ...malfunctioned...She also provided a "body" for Sherlock, a very convincing dummy that students at Bart's use for learning how to perform autopsies...We dressed it up, to have it placed discreetly on the sidewalk ,where there would be witnesses of the "death". Sherlock ,however, was strapped into a device much like they use in window washing those very tall buildings. A device which was modified to being able to be hidden under his gawdy coat..and which would cause him to swing in through a window, (that's glass we had removed from the pane , to avoid the evidence of broken glass). ..._

_When he jumped, and when you were trying to reach him, by the time you were already in route, and were accidently knocked over by a bicyclists if I am not mistaken, and by the time he was hidden from view by the ambulance station,..." _

_Mycroft drew a shaky breath...by now John was a color that made snow look dark, and his mouth was hanging open,_

_"He ,uhm, he twisted the wrong way on his way down, and was nearly torn in half by the device, which was already faulty, and had been put out of service by the window washers prior to this, which is how we were able to come by it without suspicion. We had to fly him out of England, via one of those med-vac helicopters, and he was rehabiliated from the Fall for atleast 3 months,in a hospital in Edinborough..."_

_There was a long and awkward silence..._

_"Sherlock...is...alive?" came the shaky question._

_"Listen very carefully, John! Time is precious now...Sherlock WAS alive, the last I saw of him..."_

_John's whiter than snow countenance bleached itself again._

_"His very last wish to me, as he lay dying in that med-vac helicopter...was that I would leave you out of this. He thought that if you knew about it,...you might try to become involved. Or that, your altered grief would attract suspicion from his enemies to you,and would put you at risk...So, we decided, against our best wishes for your emotional well-being, to leave you in the Light..._

_And I say the Light, because your darkness was a bright and shining place compared to that nightmare to which I sent my own little brother...And now that he has been tormented by one of the Host ,as we call them,to the point of amnesia and insanity,...now that I have lost him utterly to the darkness of the movement in Serbia, ...I need you...I need you to help me recover him._

_Because you see, your Light, might be the only thing that can reach into his Darkness now, and save him..."_


	2. Chapter 1:Mercy

**Chapter 1: Mercy**

The little blonde is standing on the steps of the dirty basement, in the old stone church. Somewhere in Serbia,... he recognizes the language she is speaking to him. Somewhere near the border of Albania? He doesn't remember? He doesn't remember how he even came to be here...

"You are the English man..." she says.

"Yes..." he answers, in her language.

" They say you are possesed by hundreds of devils. They help you to see everything about everyone. They tell you the secrets that every person is hiding..."

Sherlock lifts his head, that feels like it's full of oceans...If he could let the tears of his longing, maybe it'd be lighter.

Sleep. He desires it more than he does water. If he could ONLY weep, then he could drink his tears.

He doesn't even remember why he is being tormented. Only that the little girl is not to blame...Only that ,if he can, he has to use his "Curse" to save her.

"This is what they told you. Now what do you think?"

She swallows, looks uncertain. Points the big gun they made her carry at him. It's not even loaded; he could see that a mile away. She looks around ,as if afraid the walls are listening.

"You...were born on the day of Christ's Epiphany...on January 6th...same as all of us...You share your birthday with a holiday celebrating the Holy,and the Good...God wouldn't have allowed a Devil to do that...

And you haven't told them about my stealing food. You haven't told them about how I read the holy books, when they are away somewhere drinking...

You haven't betrayed us...And so, I think you are a good man...What is your name?"

Sherlock smiled, and laughed sadly. The girl thinks he looks mysterious,and sad, like a bowed over willow, with his dark hair hanging unkempt ,in his eyes.

"I ...don't...know...Why don't you name me?"

The little girl blinked, the thought of this troubling her greatly...

"They even took your name?..."

Sherlock looks up at the ceiling...

"You have heard my screams?"

"Every night they torture you...Every night they make you bleed...And that is why we don't sleep...Even if you did have Devils; this still isn't right..."

Sherlock smiled again..."I'm sure they have their reasons, I just don't remember why...I think..." he is suddenly very sad...

"I think there was someone...Someone I was trying to keep safe from another person, a person that wanted to do him great harm. So,... I decided to go away for a while, use my eyes and ears,that see and hear secrets,to stop people from comitting the crimes that would harm...My friend...I think the Someone...was my friend...The only one..."

The little girl lays down the gun,and draws close, laying a hand on his face.

"If that's true...then you are DEFINATELY a good man..."

He smiles at her again, twitches he light whiskers he didn't wish to grow.

"Well, come now..."

"What?"

"A name...Give me a name..."

"I think I'll call you "Willow"..."

He wrinkles his nose,playfully, "That's a girl's name."

"Well, you look like one..."

"I look like a girl?"

"No, like a willow... all this hair in your face,and you're all skinny and stooped."

Sherlock laughed , a cracking,thirsty laugh,

"Willow it is then..."

"My name is Mercy..." she said, smiling impishly.

"And I think, I'm going to try to live up to my name...For my Grandmother...Wait right here,and I'll bring you water..."

She left the gun on the floor.

Sherlock strained against his bonds...

"I'm not going anywhere..." he called, in a muffled voice.


	3. Chapter 2: Mycroft's Warning

**Chapter 2: Mycroft's Warning**

John stands in the helicopter, head spinning like the blades of the aircraft above him.

Yesterday Sherlock was dead and in the ground. A suicide ,a failure, a fake genius... The best friend that abandoned him for the grave.

Yesterday John was angry. Why shouldn't he have been? Sherlock was _dead_. Had been driven to the dust by the same people he had often helped in life.

Had left him BEHIND. Had shut him out, and left him behind. Never allowing him to help him in a beneficial way, in the caring way that _friends _do. In the hour of his greatest need, he opted to go alone, and he had died because of it. John had reason to be angry. His best friend had fallen from grace, and he had fallen right along with him. He wasn't only angry; his was caged fury, turning into silent mania.

But now, knowing _why_ Sherlock had "died". But now, knowing that he had shut him out to keep him safe?! But now knowing that somewhere in the world, he was trapped in Waking Hell, and every second on the clock was a matter of his salvation or damnation?!

John's caged mania, was turning into a natural force. A force that would bleed oceans, and drown skies, and snuff out every star that dared to bring light to the Galaxies. A force that would roll like Abysmal Smoke in the wake of all breath, choking out everything that moved ,that happened to be in his way.

John was beyond insane with a quiet rage. A thousand hells would rise around him, and he would snuff them all to smouldering heaps. Satan would fall to his knees before him,and beg for mercy,and not receive it ,until he showed him the way.

Or ,at least, this is how Mycroft told it to the agent flying the chopper, when they saw Captain Watson coming from a far way off.

"He's the one who's going to make Satan wet his britches?" the Scotts-man asked. "He's nah bigger than one of Santa's wee elves!"

"Oh, pshshhshhshuhshushSHHH! If he hears you, this won't go well. You should never judge a book by its cover, nor an explosive by the size of it's package. John Watson may be of a ...diminished sized...but he is most DEFINATELY our man."

John had heard. He chambered the rifle he was carrying, that seemed bigger than he was, to prove his point: "Not diminished;travel -sized. Where am I going; who am I killing?"

"Short. Short and to the point, all the way around.I like you already, laddie." said the Scott, smiling brightly.

Mycroft swallowed, "You are being sent to Kosovo,and from there you will travel on foot,as much as you are able, into Serbia. But , I will have to serve you fair warning, John. You are not entering a war like the one that you remember...You are entering a completely different animal of a war; a completely different WORLD. A world with shadows of Nazism hanging like spider-webs; the very electric wiring that powers Moriarty's network. You are about to enter a Hell that makes the Devil's crying nightmares look like a happy place...And Sherlock is at the heart of this hell..."

The Scottsman, (who's name happens to be Willie , in case you were wondering) had to stifle a snicker. John was wearing little dark round sunglasses, like a member of the Beatles, and loudly chewing a rather large piece of gum. His bullet proof vest seemed to swallow him,and his golden blonde hair stood up in frizzy little ends, like it was copper wire mesh, alive with electric energy of its own. One of his brows curled, like he was waiting for Mycroft to shut up so he could get on with his business.

"Meh. Sounds like Tescos on a Saturday afternoon." he said, putting the gun on safety, and hoisitng it up on his back, snapping at the gum even louder, and blowing a rather large bubble, right as he climbed up past Mycroft.

The older man looked some what annoyed. Willie was getting a kick out of this.

"John, I am SERIOUS. Very serious. Where you are going is a nightmare that makes Satan's nightmares look like some fairy-ponies-and-rainbows-little-girl-rubbish!"

John smiled smugly, "Well, then Satan's gonna need to invest in some nappies... because I'm on the way to make things a whole lot more fun..." he drew his eyebrows up and down,almost tauntingly.

Mycroft was utterly exasperated, "You-gahhhh-you know BUGGER ALL about it, about what they're capable of, about how ...furious...Sherlock will be with me when he finds out that I've let you in on this, and, oh, how I don't want to listen to his drama..."

John held up a dismissive hand, "These fools...know BUGGER ALL about me,or what_ I'm _capable of...And Sherlock really doesn't have a choice in the matter now, does he? For all you know, we may be going in to deliver a body, but by God I'll get him out of there, if I have to bring him out ,to London shanks pony. Tweezers ,tooth and nail! "

And with that John looked out the window, and Mycroft nodded, "Well , I will stay with you till you're on the ground then,...but afterward you are on your own...And, if you like, I can have those nappies air-mailed..."

John sighed, and rolled his eyes, looking out of the window, at the vast emptiness of the sea,

"Thank you ,Mycroft. But water and plasters would be more practical. Satan can buy his own nappies..."


	4. Chapter 3: The Children of the Stones

**Chapter 3: The Children of the Stones~**

They are made to carry guns. "Ask no questions!" ,their shrewd "leader" commands them.

They do as they are told. They are known as the Children of the Stones, by the people of the village, not far away. These live in growing terror of the orphanage-church, that has become the fortress for the Spider's hired men.

The bosses shot their nuns. Shot their baker,and their preacher. Lined them up,and shot them, one after the other.

And they were made to bury them all, one by one; little hands digging shallow graves. And now they sleep atop them, under the stones that mark the place where the Sisters lie...

They are the Children of the Stones, and they are sad. They were brought here to hope that God's mercy would fall like an arrow of light ,out of the Darkness, that was supposedly the sky above them. They were brought here to be taught that they were each "Epiphany's Child", born on the day that celebrates the advent of light...born on the day that inspires righteousness...

They know not that there is a man coming to restore their faith in Light. That there is a God of mercy,who wields men like swords,and angels as fire-brands.

That there is a God of justice, and that the stories their Sisters told them, were not fairy -tales...

The bosses make them guard the graveyard, so no one comes in or out. So none may intervene, to stop what they do to Willow-man.

They don't know why they hate him so much. Something about how he was going to unravel the Web around them, destroy their world. Of course, they know nothing of this world of which their bosses speak. The far away Spider, the Irish man, they know he was cruel. They imagine him like a greedy,evil monster, in all the books, that their masters burned...

They watch ,every day, as their masters cruelly de-humanize this Willow-man. He becomes dry and bowed, and his hair hangs darkly,to shadow his face, just like the tree from which the child called Mercy gave him a name. They wonder what his real name was...when he was a man,and not a tree walking.

But it doesn't matter now. By day he is chained to a plow, and made to walk the field, like a starved old horse. He plows, the master with his whip behind him. He stands, tethered to a post with the Master's livestock all about him,when said Master is away, drinking and visting his many girlfriends...

Sometimes the Children will go and talk to Willow-man. He can speak their language. But it sounds funny the way he says their words. He is an English man...They ask him questions about England. He doesn't remember much. What he does, he tells them, and they find it would be a lovely place to visit:

"It rains in my City, very much..." he says, in the funny way he says their words..slow and sad.

"What are the people like?" asks Mercy, and then the Willow-man smiles, a slow,cracking smile, and dry blood brushes off his lips, that have long ago ceased the begging of thirst.

"Worth protecting..."

"Is that why the bosses brought you here?" asked a child, eyes wide and afraid.

Willow-man lifts his head, a brow twisted confused. The children take a step back, not having expected the piercing eyes that were hidden under all that wild dark willow-hair. The thin beard and mustache on his pale face, don't look like they belong there. He has high ,sharp cheek-bones...They think maybe he's an elf, from some far- off place in story books, that they might read about, but may as well not exist, so strangely remote it seems...in this Dark world that the Spider spun.

"Yes."

"So the people you were protecting..were they your friends?" asks a little boy, with golden hair.

Willow-man looks the most sad when talking with him. This boy reminds him of...someone...Someone that...once upon a time...he might have known.

Someone he cared about enough to come...here.

"No...only one was..."

"What was his name?" asks another, a little girl.

Willow-man looks to the sky,and smiles fondly. This is the only thing he remembers, about the Fairy-World he came from, in his life Before...The one syllable of his native tounge he recalls,with enough clarity to utter.

"His name was John..." he says and the name sticks out so strangely against their language, cracks so oddly in the deep ,dark voice, speaking out of this tree-of-a-man, like the narrartion of the old and tired world. As if the wind is teaching them to talk, in strange ,sad, shuttering sounds. They feel a shiver ,like autumn in their bones, and they repeat the name.

"John?"...

And unbeknownst to them, as if called by his name, Faithful John from Willow-man's fable, comes walking into the Churchyard...


	5. Chapter 4: Once Upon a Time

**Chapter 4: Once Upon a Time...**

John was not prepared to see him.

He stops in his tracks, there under the trees, of the Serbian church yard.

Once upon a time,...he _knew _Sherlock Holmes. Knew him from a crowd of hundreds, on the streets of London. Knew his shape out of the darkness, immaterial spirit almost hovering around him, like a secondary atmosphere, the vastness of his life consuming him in the moment when he was on fire, ignited in the darkness beside him,by his brilliant soul.

But WHO was THIS? This man, who's pale skin hung like a ghost's shadow over the shapes of what he imagined were bones, more fragile than shapes made of dust, as cold as ice. WHO was this wraith of a man,whose hair hung over his eyes, like streams of ink, bleeding down his skull? Like a wisp of smoke, twisted into a hologramic image of a man, standing shadow, beloved hallucination?!

John stumbles into the church-yard, forgetting to be cautious of the Bosses. Forgetting that he is armed, and that he will frighten armed children, forced to carry weapons, that they could kill themselves with , accidently.

Forgetting everything but the face of the man he knew...once upon a time.

This man, that is chained like an animal to a fence post, looks up, astonished, jolted as if out of dozing. The children draw their guns out, fumbling,trying to chamber them, but they are too heavy to lift. Some of them even begin to cry, panicing.

A familiar voice ...an all too familiar voice...speaks out of the Shadow-figure, but the words come out in some language John has never heard. Whatever he has said, it calms the children down,and the guns lower.

Then he steps forward, as far as his chain will stretch,and jabs a hand in John's direction, spouting something in this language, and it takes John a full 3 minutes, of this man practically shouting at him, to realize that this babbling speech is directed to him.

"English! I'm English...I don't...don't know what you're...saying..."comes John's choked response ,at last...

This strange dark shadow of his best friend, stands on swaggering legs for a moment, as if himself completely baffled by the language he has heard. He lifts a chained wrist, and brushes the wild dark streams of hair out of his eyes. The face is Sherlock's, but the beginnings of facial hair ,however ,does not look like him. It only adds to the haggard-ness of his appearance, and makes John's blood go cold, knowing that he is indeed seeing him- alive- because he cannot imagine him like this, not even in the darkest nightmares he has appeared in...

But then Sherlock's voice cuts through all of this. His voice, that John despaired of ever hearing again...had almost forgotten the baritone way it sort of rumbled at the end of muttered words, how even at its highest it was still so very deep,...and dark...and haunting...This is like being haunted...Like the strangest,and certainly most awful dream, he has ever had. But it's _Sherlock's _voice,speaking to him loud and clear in English:

"I...am also from England..." came the halting sentence. The eyes, still the same, although everything else is alterted, flutter a bit,

"Why have you come? Who sent you?...If you are a bounty hunter, then I am afraid you were lied to. There will be no great bounty for my life...It's considered the highest honor of the Web just to end it...

I have tried to convince my Master of this,...but he is rather bull-headed, and quite stupid...And is currently away, drinking himself stupid-all-the-more...If you've come to bargain for a ransom from...someone...well you'll have to make it quick. He'll be back by the time the sun goes down...If you've come to take the honor of killing me for yourself, I'd ask you to please take me out behind the church. These children have seen more violent deaths than a soldier does in his life time..."

John's heart jumps, one Heraclean- effort of a leap, one great jump ,like the one from the roof an English hospital, that set this all in motion. His mouth falls open.

"I-I was sent to rescue you..." he stammers...eyes blurring, feeling faint.

Sherlock nods, gravely, and says something to the children in their language.

A little girl breaks out of their host,and clings to him, begging him in her language, tears streaming down her face, and John doesn't have to understand the words, to know why she is pleading. She doesn't want him to die, doesn't want the unidentified man ,with the gun that is as big as her entire body, to shoot him down, leave his blood to slither through this forest, like a serpent of memory.

Sherlock looks upset, brows twisting in an anxious expression, but he gently shoos her away. In a curt, parental sort -of- tone, he says something back to her,and indicates the other children with his head. She is shaking now, begging, saying one word over and over, that sounds like a name she might have given him. He shakes his head sadly,and in an even more rough tone, one meant to startle her into obedience, he commands her to take the other children away, gives her a shove that is more gentle than it looks.

She gasps a sob,and grabs at him...And he clutches her hand, and in a softer ,quieter voice says something else. Then with a trembling lip, she nods, and ushers the other children away into the graveyard behind the church.

"Now, Doctor..."Sherlock says, turning his attention to John again, "For clearly, you ARE a doctor, and I needn't give you a sample of my 'sorcery' to prove it. I can see in your eyes that I have judged correctly,..." he let his voice trail on.

"I-I've not come to hurt...you...any of you...I've come to help." John croaks.

Sherlock nods ,gravely. "Please, Doctor, they always say the same thing...'I'm a British agent, I've come to take you home'...Weeee!"

He flashes his obviously singed palms, chains clinking sickeningly,and John swallows...

"You...you don't...know me...Sherlock?" he says,at last.

An absolutely terrifying expression sets like stone over the man's entire face; one of rage that would make the devil run for fear.

"How do you know my name?! So...I HAVE been compromised..." he gnashes his teeth,

"Alright,Doctor, name your terms. You want me to bleed, I'll bleed. I'm GOOD at that...You want to ship a piece of the body to each of the heads of Moriarty's Web, I will help you gift wrap them. But know this...there was a certain individual who's safety was the impetus for my taking this doomed mission...And if ANY information is leaked concerning him...You better pray Satan knows a grave-digger, because you'll be shaping a trench at the base of Hell, trying to hide from me...And you will FAIL, Doctor...You will fail..."


	6. Chapter 5 : I May Have Known You

**Chapter 5: I May Have Known You~**

John feels himself beginning to lose control of this situation,and he can't do that. The soldier, the survivor still alive inside him, licks up into a roaring fire, and he acts immediately.

He gets down on his knees, put his gun on safety,and casts it aside. Kneels, hands above his head...

"No,...I'm on your side. I can PROVE I was sent here to bring you out."

"Oh, REALLY? How are you going to do that?"

"Your terms...we will do this on your terms..."John nods, thinking this the best possible thing he could have chosen to say.

"Meaning...?"

John hadn't factored in that Sherlock had been de-humanized to the point of not having "terms" or "choice"...

"Meaning that I prove it the way you want me to. You want me to do something for you, you've got it. Want to attack me with questions, I'll give you the answers you're looking for. I know that I can,because I KNOW you.

Your name...is Sherlock Holmes..."

Sherlock lashes at his chains again,and John looks at the ground, panting. How was he going to get him to believe that he wasn't the bad guy?

"This mission is compromised!" Sherlock hissed. "You've been waiting on the side-lines, for me to be an easy target for you, haven't you?...Ohhohoh.. this is clever...I like this...You were waiting to claim me for yourself, watching,waiting,...hunting like a lion. Well, you've got what you wanted now...and you will put a stop to all the feuding. For the last BLOODY time that I will ever say this, I DON'T have the Code. There will be no ransom sent to you. No insurance of a share in the profits, plus guarantee that you will live to spend them. I will give you the honor of killing me ,then, because I will be DEAD. Cold -and-DEAD!, before I compromise the lives of the innocents under my protection..The boss hired you for them too ,didn't he? Promised you HUGE amounts...for them. To watch me burn...Oh, but Doctor, how unfortunate! To destroy me, you have to first..._destroy... _me. God made me far too clever to trick, and there is no amount of torment that can force it from my lips...So, I am afraid...there will be no money." his lips formed a mocking pout, and John felt like he would go crazy ,if he hadn't already.

Money? The thought of being paid to do this made him sick to the core. He found his chest was aching like it had been slammed by a recoiling cannon.

He just wanted to throw his arms around him,and never let go of him again. He was ALIVE! It was utterly impossible...

What kind of hell had he been through in the last 2 years he'd been dead an gone? John was near tears, but for now, was keeping himself under control.

"Your mission has NOT been compromised. I was sent here by Mycroft Holmes, to rescue and rehabilitate you. My name is John Watson, I was a medic of captain rank in the British army, invalided for severe injury to the shoulder in a devastating fire-fight in Afghanistan..."

Sherlock's head snaps up,and his eyes go wide..."John...John Watson?!...I ...I think I know you..."

John smiles...and begins to stand up, slowly, hands still up in a surrendered pose..."Yes...well ,see ,that's part of my story. When ..when I was sent home...I wasn't able to afford lodging off of my pension. Army pays like crap...but anyway. I was in need of someone to half rent with...I was introduced to you by a Mike Stamford? ...,do you recognize this name?"

Sherlock looks terrified,like he should remember..."There are a lot of names, faces, locations,...I have deleted to protect the involved parties..."

"_Oh my God_..." John thought, "_Not only ALIVE all this time, but being tortured without mercy,and God knows why! Refusing to give in, to keep YOU safe...Deleted you from the Mind Palace...to keep you safe...I take it back...I take it all back...You weren't selfish, Sherlock, not in the least...Only appeared to be..."_

"I understand...But I am going to need you to try to ...uhmmm..."restore" some of what you deleted ,and work with me, so I can get you,and these children, out of here...As per order of Mycroft Holmes..."

"Mycroft...I think...I think I know him as well?"

"Of course you do, he's your brother...Your name is Sherlock Holmes...Sherlock...Do you recognize it?"

Sherlock looked at his feet. "No..."

"Well,learn to .It's YOUR name. Sherlock. I'll write it on the backs of your hands if I have to..."

Sherlock stared holes through John. "Yes...yes I think I may have known you...once..."

John laughed to keep from crying. And then he drew a deep breath.

"We don't have much time left before your captors return, if what you said is indeed the most likely event...I need you to Work with me..."

Sherlock nodded, studying him with all of his deductive powers,and still drawing up nothing but blanks.

When he deleted something,...he did it all too well.


	7. Chapter 6: Wait For My Lead

**Chapter 6: Wait For My Lead~**

Sherlock drew a heavy breath, and his eyes fluttered. "_They've got him on something,_" thought John.

Once more this situation hit him full-speed, like an iron train derailing on it's attempt to escape hell. With the realization that this was REAL, John's desperation increased.

Sherlock lifted his head, shaggy hair having fallen back over his haunted eyes.

"I've some experience with this sort of thing in the past, Doctor Watson..."he said,and John's stomach plummeted. He swallowed the urge to vomit, and in a twisted, more -of- the caring- doctor-than the captian-on-the-loose voice, he choked out:

"You do?"

Sherlock nodded, wild hair shivering, "When I was a captive somewhere in the mountains of China...they had all these hostages lined up on the river. They were forced to be the audience of my torment...I will spare you the more gruesome details, but I was painted up like a character in a traditional Oriental play,and hooked to an apparatus that allowed me to be manipulated as a human puppet, on these live... wires, and the rest was stage effects..." he closed his eyes, and John felt his belly coiling like a serpent made of stone.

When did the horror of all of this end?

John's breath was coming in such strangled little gasps, that he almost missed the point Sherlock was trying to make.

"The hostages would be shot if they tried to escape ...what was , I have no doubt, a very disturbing experience for the lot of them. I developed a method of blinking, that would work like Morse code, to signal my superiors, and we worked out a method to save the hostages that way. When there was a break in supervision of one of said hostages, I would signal with my eyes, and another agent would smuggle them out. Lastly, they got me out, in a covert operation of stealth -sniping my captors ,who had finally been alerted to what was happening. Of course I had to manipulate their anger to making the show more interesting , so that they would therefore be more distracted by it, and we could slip the innocents out from under their noses..."

John's heart froze. It was taking him every ounce of his will to force his breath in and out, to live in _this _moment. This all too REAL moment. And now...what he was asking him to do?

"So, what you are saying...what...you...are asking me to do...is to allow them to torment you...allow you to provoke them to increasing their methods...while I smuggle these kids out...one at a time...?"

Sherlock smiled, " You're clever;I like you...I think we could be friends..."

John's breath strained...

"Why not?" he smiled.

And Sherlock nodded, and smiled dryly.

"I hear the Boss coming back...Pick a child...and get them out of here...and I will ...handle him..."

John was beginning to hyperventilate.

Sherlock's eyes go wide...

"Go now, wait for my lead...I know...I know what I'm doing."

_"I'm sure...you do..." _the doctor thought, feeling as if his soul was slowly roasting.

It was the very hardest thing John Watson had ever done. To trust Sherlock, like he was, now, with his cruel and drunken master coming to have some fun roughing him up.

To trust Sherlock,and to LEAVE him there, to be tormented. Whilst he went, and tried to convince a group of scared-to-death children, separated by language barrier, that his abducting them was going to save them?!

It was harder than walking away from his grave...and only the understanding now of _why _he had done what he had done, only the hope that he could possibly save him from this, gave John the strength to turn around,and march into the woods behind the graveyard, and LEAVE him there,right at the moment when the Boss's harsh voice,and rattling chain-whip became audible.


	8. Chapter 7: I Will Lead You Home

**Chapter 7: I Will Lead You Home~**

In the end, it hadn't been too overly hard to convince the children.

John left his gun behind a tree, thinking if they didn't see it, they would be less afraid. He got down on his knees in front of them.

Some of them clung to the hasty set-up gravestones,(which they had been forced to cut out of the rock with rough tools, their tiny hands rubbed raw), as if these were the skirts of the Sisters, gone to light the way to the City of God.

John smiled, and the kind smile that he was so well- loved for ,away in a world of light, pulled these stone-faced children out of their darkness, towards his warmth.

He pulled out his first-aid kit, and hung his stethoscope around his neck, to show them he was a doctor.

A silent understanding passed between them,followed by a silent agreement. And then, they carried an emaciated, frightened, and sick toddler- boy to John's waiting arms.

He nodded, and put a finger to his lips, as if telling them to be quiet.

They nodded in return.

Then he pointed to the sky, at where the sun was. He motioned his hands like he were bringing it down, and then he pointed to himself,as if to tell them when he planned to be back. He pointed toward the village, barely visible through the trees, as if telling them where he was taking the tiny boy.

They all nodded,and smiled, and cried happy tears. The kind doctor had come to save them!

One little girl, the blonde that had clung to Sherlock ,came,and grabbed at him,and was begging something in her language. John did the instinctive thing,and bent,and hugged her tight.

_I promise...I promise I'll get you out of here...All of you...Sherlock too...Don't cry anymore, darling, he'll make it through this,I swear to God! _he thought, chewing his lip ,in anguish.

Eventually the other children gathered the little girl close,and a taller red-headed boy nodded at John. All at once he realized the boy was the age-progressed version of the toddler that was already sleeping on his shoulder.

His brother.

John clutched his shoulder, as if promising him the child would live. The boy nodded bravely,and then clutched Mercy(for Mercy it was who had been clinging) to his chest.

~~~When John had treated the baby as best as he could, and had carried him to the village,he was swarmed by the people thereof.

The child's mother was so overcome with gratitude ,she kissed John full in the mouth. Then she collared him,and begged for the other boy, in her language.

"English...I'm English..."John practically pleaded.

One man came out, who could speak a little English. After a broken conversation, the man was able to convey what John's plan was.

The others paled when they heard what was happening to the English man's friend up there. As a thank-you to the beloved Doctor that had saved the tiniest member of their community, they furnished him with a large bag of food things and blankets for the children, and something easier on the stomach and a water-skin for Sherlock...

John came back to the sounds of a chain whizzing through the air, colliding like a snap of lightning's bitter tongue,against bone.

It took Mercy's crying,and running,and clinging to him,to keep his fury from making him run and kill this man with his bare hands.

Because if he did that, to this one out of who knew how many other men, Mercy and her friends would be done for.

So,he stood ,tears streaming down his face, hand stroking through Mercy's golden hair, weeping along with the Children of the Stones,as two voices, one harsh with hatred's distortion, one hoarse and pleading, echoed in the misty air.

Finally the beating grew so rapid,one could almost not distinguish the sound of voices over it. Till one of the voices ,in its desperation, transferred to English. A higher-pitched and scratchy version of a baritone voice, cracked without water, strained ultimately without hope, began to wail in a sort of mantra:

"I DON'T KNOW JOHN WATSON, DON'T KNOW HIM-I DON'T KNOW!"

The beating only intensified, until the man inflicting the torment, let out this growling sound like he were exhausted,and there was this loud spitting,and an agonized groan, and then a sharp cry,and the sound of a thump where the man kicked Sherlock in the ribs,so hard even from this distance,John thought he heard something crack.

Then there was a ringing silence, followed by Mercy's sobs.

"Shhh..."John whispered,and pointed to the bag. He passed the stuff out,and pulled out Sherlock's things,and put on his stethoscope,and pointed to show Mercy he was going to go and make Willow-man better.

She smiled,and giggled in a high-pitched little chirp.

And then slowly,as if approaching a wounded animal, John went to Sherlock...

Or..what was left of him.

"GOD!" John whispered,and covered his mouth with a hand. An ex-army doctor doesn't shy at a little blood. But this..was _Sherlock's _blood,and he felt like he would throw-up all over him.

Sherlock's hair had shielded his face. It was for the most part, unharmed.

John drew said wild hair back over his ears,so he could finally look into the so-very loved, so-very missed face.

"Hey,it's me, I'm back..."

Sherlock choked out a cough, "I don't know a John Watson! If I ever did, I deleted him,...poor fool ...whoever he is...he doesn't deserve this..." he closed his eyes, in nearly panicing misery...

"Tell me,Doctor...Tell me that no harm will come to this...John...Watson."

John was crying heavily,and silently now.

"Look at me..." he whispered,and lifted Sherlock's head.

Those eyes...No light...

"It's me- I am John! And I promise...I _promise- _hey,no!"

Sherlock was losing focus, John pulled his head up, "Look me in the eyes, focus on my eyes,and nothing else...Let this sorry world go for a minute, ok?...And just look at me..."

He'd been dying to look in these eyes..for years...

"I swear to you,on the last breath of my soul, I will get you out of this, I will lead you home..."

Sherlock swallowed some of his blood,and looked like he was about to cry.

John pulled out the water skin..."...You're in pieces..." he muttered, sucking his teeth. "Here, I brought you this...Drink it all; I'll get you more..."

"John..."

"It's alright...I'm here now..you're alright."

Sherlock looked him in the eyes one final time,and passed out cold, head rolling to his chest.

John sobbed the entire time he cleaned the blood off of him..,tears making scarlet run.


	9. Chapter 8: Do You Trust Me?

**Chapter 8: Do You Trust Me?**

Sherlock woke up, right as John had finished cleaning the blood off of him,and was about to add plasters.

"Wait..." Sherlock groaned, and grabbed John's wrist.

John flinched ,and looked up at him, with eyes as wide as an owls. It was the first time,since they had been reunited,that Sherlock had reached out of his own volition,and touched him. His hand was cadaverously cold, and trembling. John reached around with his free hand,and clutched the one at his wrist.

"Yeah?"

"The plasters...you can't...you can't bandage me ,John..."

_John._ He was starting to remember him.

"No-no you need plasters, all these wounds will break open and bleed the first time you shift..."

Sherlock laughed a hoarse squeak. "I appreciate your compassion, I _really _do. You can't,honestly, begin to know how ...ummm...useful it is to me. But..."he shifted,and just as John had said, blood began to weep from him again. How much could he possibly have left?

"But ,I promise you, he will open them again, in fact, I can hear him shifting around inside the church. When he's had another glass of gin, he'll be ready to go at it again...And the other thing you have to calculate- even for a brute like him, it will be quite obvious _I _didn't bandage myself. Even cleaning me up is a little risky, but he will blame the children for that, and he needs them to be in top form , for the look out, so he won't abuse them. He can't know you're here yet, that will make it next to impossible to smuggle the others out,and you've got around 29 more to go. So, you've...you've gotta lay low for a while,alright?"

This was TOO MUCH to ask. It was one thing to force him to watch him die. It was one thing more to turn up miraculously alive, but in captivity that made the thought of hell seem like holiday. To make him leave him on that post was almost impossible. To make him stand back,and listen while he was beaten within rags of his flesh?

But not to allow him bandage him?Which is what a doctor is _supposed_ to do?John just...can't.

He starts to panic, years of building PTSD coming to a head.

"You can't-you cant be serious! You could bleed to death, this is insane!" John is hyperventilating. Turning blue around the lips. Eyes blinking almost like he were having a seizure, fighting unconsciousness, with all the pent up anger and pain inside him.

"YOU MADE ME WATCH YOU DIE ONCE!" he would have shouted, and given it all away, but his voice was nearly gone.

Sherlock nodded, "I know...I'm ...I'm starting to remember. With something paramount to my life before,... or in this case _someone_, I can't delete the individual...you ,in particular, for lengthy periods of time. I don't remember much, but I know...what you're talking about...I need..." he coughed,and John caught him,

"You need a bloody hospital! You can't expect me to leave you here, like meat on a peg, with flies, and nasty rot, -not to mention wild animals smell fresh blood-you're outside in the elements, you!-"

"I need you to trust me, John. Do you trust me?"

John blinked wildly...Did he? After?

Sherlock nodded, "I know, it's presumptuous. I guess that's...how I am...and I'm sorry...for being ..like that..."

"No, no, I trust you...with my life. Your brother-Mycroft-your brother...he told me..."John was in tears now, trying not to let them out, but it was proving impossible. Even soldiers must have a breaking point. Dead men ,however, do not. They are already broken.

Sherlock stretched his chained arms out,and reached,and awkwardly embraced him, not really thinking about all the blood he was getting on him. John gasped,and fell into his arms, trying not to hurt him, that proving almost impossible.

Oh ,what had he done now?Now that he was in his arms, how would he ever let him go again? This...it was...just...

"This has all been for you..."Sherlock whispered, into his ear, and that didn't comfort him at all. It only made the tears harder to tame. Sherlock nodded ,like he knew...

"You know you're human if you can do that...so don't...don't fight...But I need you to be able to walk weeping, you understand? I'm going to have to ask you to do something impossible for me ,ok? I wouldn't ask you, if I wasn't willing to do it myself. John,that rooftop, doing that to you-I didn't...I couldn't...I ...it was impossible..."

"God, it's ok, I forgive you now!"he gasped in the side of his neck, shaking.

Sherlock nodded, in tears now himself, but having a better handle on them, only because he absolutely must, so he could speak,

"What I'm asking you isn't right to ask you, but it will be absolutely neccesary. Trust me, John...I know my enemy better than I know my friends, now. I'm going to have to ask you to let me go, to turn a blind eye,and go back to the little ones. Use your first-aid on them. Rest them while it's day,and take off with them at night...because the night.." Sherlock smiled, grimly,

"The night is when we go to the Game Room ,as he calls it, and he plays his games with me...And it would be easier, for you, and for them...if you weren't here...for that..."

"You..you..you're,...I?"

"John...Trust me..."

John sat up, took him by both sides of his face, panting raggedly.

"Ok...Ok,...I can do that...But...I've gotta ask you to do something for me in return..."

Sherlock smiled grimly, "I'd do ...anything...for you..."

John nodded, "I know..." he swallowed the sob that was building like a mountain's erruption,inside of him,

"Even die for me...I know. And now...now that you're suffering, that might be easier than what I'm asking of you...Promise...me... , that you'll survive. That you'll fight..."

John just COULD NOT finish what he was saying.

Sherlock nodded. "I swear it. Go now..I hear him coming."

Impulsively,John bowed over, took his head in his hands, and kissed him in the middle of his wild hair.

And then..he left him AGAIN. Right when the evil man that he wanted to just turn around and kill mercilessly- _knew _ how to kill mercilessly- came back out for round 2 with the chain.

"Maybe ...you will remember better now...Oh, look the brats cleaned up your blood? Don't like messes, do they? Well, I'll give them a real something not to like, won't I?" the man growled in Serbian.

Sherlock flashed one of his cold ,silver green eyes ,out from behind the wild raven veil,

"There isn't much red left to splatter...poor devil," he mocked in the same language.

John heard the tone in Sherlock's voice, even if he didn't understand the words, and he knew what he was trying to do.

_"Oh God, I'm not ready_." he thought, but marched ,like the soldier that he was ,back to the kids, who were cowering in fear behind their Sister's graves.


	10. Chapter 9: When Evening Crashes On Us

**Chapter 9:When The Evening Crashes On Us~**

The whip chastised the fire inside of John, like an afflicted demon, all day as he was forced to listen to it whilst he tended the sick children.

At night, he smuggled them out 5 at a time.

He knew this might be executing the plan faster than Sherlock said they should. But an idea was beginning to form in the back of Captain Watson's mind.

The enemy had supplied him with fire arms. Loaded fire arms.

Fire arms that he had the children take _with _them ,when he took them home. Had them hide them in a shallow cache ,they dug under a tree at the edge of their village.

A nasty idea had formed in Captain Watson's mind. And the men and teenage boys of the village( and some of the girls) were starting to catch on,and knowing smiles were spreading on their faces.

But the idea of over-throwing the Bosses ,with an organizied resistance of towns-people ,John himself leading the operation, did not finally hit home, until he got back to the basement of the orphanage-church in which Sherlock was captive.

He just wanted in. Just wanted to see after him. He had more water for him. And soon, soon he could smuggle him out of here too, and dress his wounds...

He only had a handful of kids left, 4 boys, and Mercy. And then, then he could lead his rag-tag rebels in, and smoke these guys out...

He'd even saved a gun for Sherlock. A smaller one in the semi-automatic family. He was thinking he could chamber it, reload it,and just let Sherlock hold down the trigger whenever he needed to. Being that Sherlock was probably too weak now to even chamber a revolver.

Still the thought of arming Sherlock, enabling him to fight back , gave John a sense of purpose that gave him the strength to drag himself to the basement window.

He peered in, trying to get the lay of the inside, to form a plan of sneaking in.

When he saw...what was being done, and it froze him as solid as a million years of stone.

Sherlock hanging from the cieling, arms suspended over him, barely standing on tip toes . Actively having a vicious seizure,caused by some kind of drug,and way beyond the bounds of even natural epileptic episodes, clothes having been lit on fire.

Something exploded inside of John's heart, something like a supernova of the Light inside him,and evening crashed down ,like a wall of stone.

Something animal awoke in John, a ferocity, like the bursting stars within him, a desperation greater than that of the Damned.

He didn't remember how he ended up coming through the tiny window he was peering into. But he rolled on the floor , in the broken glass, through the gas the wicked tormentor had sprayed everywhere.

He himself was laying in the floor, with a bottle of gin as large as his fat leg, laughing like a hyena at his living Guy Fawkes.

John didn't remember picking up the shovel,or knocking the guy out cold. Didn't remember cracking open the box in the wall,and pulling out the fire-extinguisher.

Whatever hybrid drug this guy had used,it must have reacted to heat, because as Sherlock started to cool down, his seizure began to ease up.

John remembered very well cutting him down. Remembered insisting that he put his arm around his neck,

"John, what?!"

"You asked me to trust you,Sherlock. Well, now I'm gonna need you to trust me, ok? So far, I've done what you said, but I've decided to pick up the pace. I have an idea, and I have people to help me...And the last 5 kids are coming with us, -I'm springing you out of here tonight!"

For once Sherlock didn't argue. But he looked at John with worried eyes...

"You're sure?"

"I'm a soldier ,Sherlock. I know what I'm doing. Why don't you take a night off, you've done more than your fare share..."

Sherlock nodded, eyes yet haunted, and then his face twisted in agony,at being moved when he was so damaged...

"That's no good, here..."

John wasn't sure how he swept him off his feet, folding his legs up under him. In another life, someone would have had something to say about how John carried Sherlock out of the front door of an old romantic-looking church, like a bride. And once upon a time, John might have cared. But now the light inside him had turned into something more fierce than hell fire. And those accusing, mocking tongues, and rumors,and newspapers ,were galaxies away, burned and smoking out ,in the wake of the end of his Universe, as he blew it to shards of supernovas, lighting his way into the dark.

For all the demolition of his soul,and shattering of his heart, John could only smile...and let the Evening come crashing down...


	11. Chapter 10: Epiphany Will Reign

**Chapter 10: Epiphany Will Reign~**

The time had come. That raw and throbbing hour, when the oppressed have had enough.

When John came trudging back to the village,with Sherlock limp and bleeding in his arms, he was met by a posse of 30 men, teen boys,and teen girls.

They had found John's cache, and dug the weapons out of their own volition. They had read their Captain's mind, and without being ordered, they chose to obey him.

John felt his jaw drop, and then his face dawn into a crimson smile. Yes, the hour had come when the world can no more forbear, and the Horses of Judgement paw the horizon,and thunder rolls in the distance.

John felt the basic cadaver twist in his arms. The light of Epiphany that called him into the world, called him back from the cusp of the Grave. He started to sit up,and John set him on his feet, an arm around his waist ,to keep him steady.

And John Watson's Company stepped aside,and a tiny girl stepped forward. John remembered it was the girl that was begging for Sherlock's life. They had dressed her up like nurse,and she brought John a big medical bag the old practice in the village had left .Antique supply but just enough for hands as skilled in healing as John's were.

Sherlock called the little girl by name in astonishment,and she said something in return. And then Sherlock spoke with John's posse,and turned to him, eyes wide beneath his dark and sweat soaked hair.

"Apparently you've furnished yourself with an army without even asking, Captain. They say a man that would carry their children through the forest, whilst his brother dies on a stake, ...is a man worth following through hell or high waters." he smiled, "And the little one is your nurse."

John nodded,and smiled ,speechless. Secretly delighted that they had just assumed Sherlock was his brother.

Then he made Sherlock sit down there on the ground,and had the little girl open the bag. "Nurse." he said, and Sherlock translated. And then leaning closer to John's face, he muttered,

"Her name is Mercy."

"Apply named." John smiled at the child , who smiled back with nymphishly flashing eyes.

John was permitted at last to follow doctor's instinct.

"-And when this is over, you are going to be off your feet for at least a MONTH ,young man." John teased, mimicing Mrs. Hudson.

"No objections, mother dear." Sherlock quipped, and John felt his stomach burn with joy that he was alive. After all of this, he was alive.

Mercy followed a little girl's instinct, and to fix Sherlock cosmetically she tyed a bandana around his head , pulling his wild hair up off his face. That with the thin whiskers over his lip, and the ripped and burned t-shirt, black jeans( that may have been a dark blue before the fire) and the half-roasted off hoodie, made him look like a gangster- pirate. John laughed at the image, and finished binding him up, and hauled him to his feet.

After all of this, still standing tall.

For a moment they stood ,transfixed, staring at each other, realizing that...they had survived.

And then one of the teen girls stepped forward,and handed Sherlock the little semi-automatic that they had figured was for him, judging by the care John had taken in picking it out.

John smiled. He'd only known them a matter of two days, and already they had judged him and Sherlock better than the entire nation of England had through-out their whole lives.

Trouble has a curious way of bringing souls to the Light. And Light had come,with the promise that Epiphany will reign.


	12. Chapter 11: But Sometimes You Will Fail

**Chapter 11: But Sometimes You Will Fail~**

The mission was doomed before it began. John knew it in his heart. Should have known it in his head, but he was a soldier, and his very blood demanded he should fight.

But this time he got no say.

He lead his little band of warriors through the trees, and stopped short.

The church had caught on fire,and was ablaze. He could kick himself for not thinking about the fire! It had acted as a beacon, alerting swarms upon swarms of people from Moriarty's Network.

One in particular, a dark English man turned around, fingering a stop watch.

"Ah, Mister Holmes..." he smiled, wickedly,

"Did someone come to save you?"

He clicked the watch shut.

"Lord Moran..." Sherlock gasped. "Ah, I thought we should meet sooner than later..."

"Perhaps a little TOO soon. Oh, am I interrupting something? Right, Doctor Watson was going to attempt to put up one last sorry-excuse -for-a-glorious-last-stand. Oh, and it would have been glorious, really it would, John. But now..." he smiles, "Now, if you will be so kind as to step into our midst, and shoot yourself in the head...I will let all of these people walk."

Sherlock's mouth fell open. And John's blood froze.

But Sherlock was here, and he had failed him. And maybe if he did as he was told, maybe ,just maybe, Sherlock could live to put an end to these monsters...

Sherlock deserved to live , if only for ten seconds longer than himself.

He started to step forward, to lift the gun in the air.

He hadn't visited the shadow of death in a while. It haunted him from time to time, ever since Afghanistan. It had come lurking far more when Sherlock took a little tumble off the roof of St. Bart's...

He hadn't been ready then. He wasn't ready now. But this time he wasn't begging for his life:

"_Please ,God..."_he prayed, "_Please...let him live..."_

Was it John's turn to fall head first in love for another human being? How was it even possible?

But love Sherlock he did, and fallen he had.

And now he would die for him, just as he had been willing to...all this time.

"John..."Sherlock begged, stumbling forward.

John smiled, trying to look very brave. Feeling guilty for being false in front of little Mercy who was screaming now in her language, high pitched screams.

"It's ok, mate." he laughed, like this was nothing. And his finger moved to the trigger,and he closed his eyes, trying to brace himself, for whatever came at the end.

"WAIT, NO, WAIT!" Sherlock's voice exploded, but hurt far more than any bullet to the brain.

Arms had tried to hold him back, but he had thrown off his oppressors, weak as he was, and fallen in front of John, fallen on his knees.

"I have the Code...it's in my head, Moriarty gave it to me..."

"Oh, so you finally admit it."

He was lying of course...There never had been any code, only a false one. Or if there was, it was done away with now.

But Sherlock Holmes was ever the king of a convincing bluff.

"Yes, I admit to EVERYTHING. Cheers, you have broken me!" John turned to witness this...sputtering.

"No, _don't_. Don't give in to them...I can do this..." he gasped.

Sherlock ignored him.

"I have it,.. in MY head. But if any harm comes to a single one of these people, NAMELY John Watson...you can roast me in half a thousand hells, and I will never give you an inkling of it. As a matter of fact, I will simply delete it from my memory.I can do that. I have done so before. And I WILL ,certainly unless they all walk."

Moran nodded,and smiled, a sickly satisfied smile.

"Sherlock..."John gasped...knowingly.

"Put your gun on the ground ,Captain Watson, and step away from him..."

"Wait..."

Moran pulled out a pistol,and fired haphazardly at Mercy. She gasped, and stepped away from where the bullet left a track in the grass.

"The child will die if you don't..."

Slowly, against his will, as if someone else were doing it, John stepped back.

"Any more terms and conditions ,Mr. Holmes?..."

Sherlock swallows..."They are never to be disturbed again. Any of these people."

"I'll get Watson a body guard if you like. Anything else?"

Sherlock nodded..." A final word with him? A chance to...to say goodbye?"

Moran looked up at the people of the town,and shouted something in Serbian. Defiantly, they held onto their weapons, though he told them to cast them on the ground. But they knew that he wouldn't shoot now, or Sherlock would do just as he had said.

"Did I make myself clear?"Moran shot at Mercy now,and she half-screamed.

"I don't suppose I made MYSELF clear enough, my Lord..." Sherlock mocked, holding the semi-automatic to his head.

"They walk UNHARMED, or you can try plucking strands of immaterial code from the shards of my grey matter."

"Fair enough, but you're a winner at a losing game. They can keep their blasted guns."

With that the Serbian Villagers walked off.

All except for Mercy who stood, unable to catch her breath.

Moran nodded,and coldly looked at Sherlock.

"You have ten minutes..."


	13. Chapter 12: Still I Will Believe

**Chapter 12: Still I Will Believe~**

They may have wasted half their precious time, just staring at each other, Sherlock still on his knees, too weak to stand again...

And then he broke the silence,

"John...there...there were things I wanted to say to you...things I never said, before I..."

John was to him in one great stride, hit his knees,and took him in his arms. If this was to be their very last few moments in this world,if they were going to take him from him AGAIN, then he would still fight,and they were going to have to break his arms to pull him away.

Sherlock laughed, hysterically, and swallowed. His eyes showed pure terror, his breaths came in tiny gasps, but the rest of his face was perfectly ,ice-ishly calm.

"I need to say this...before I go...uhmmm..." he swallowed, and clutched John back.

"There was a time when I thought God was a fairy-tale...Really ,I did. And I pitied fools that would make up a fairy-tale to feel safe...

But as I am also a man of principle, and I hold myself to trust the facts, as I have always said, once you rule out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable , must be true...

And I would say that if the Universe was only answerable to itself, then it would have already ruled out Light ,in any form, ages ago...There seems to be no Light in it now...until I look at you.

And when I see you,John Watson, and this is not speaking out of sentiment-because I don't know how...- I can swear by it, that there is still some Light left in the world.

And so, I must believe that there is a God, and that He is a Merciful Creator, because He must be the One that gives Light the power to endure, and as you are a work of absolute perfection , by reason of all that Man is meant to be, then you could not possibly be the cause and effect of a Universe that shuns the Light. Therefore ,you were Created. And ,as you were sent to me ,in my final hours...I believe, -and call me a fool, if you want...

I believe that God is merciful, in the fact that ...you exist. That you endure, that you are here...when by rights...you should be far away, and unforgiving of me.

Because I was not a good man, and I am a wretched man now. And you are my last link to heaven, and I believe that such a place exists, because of you,and I believe that God still seeks after our well-being, and that there are angels, because you are more angel than man, and He sent you. To save me...and you have...You have."

John moaned, because he felt that he _hadn't _, and neither did he feel he deserved all that was being said of him. But Sherlock wasn't finished.

"I've never made a Vow in my life. But I make you one now. Whatever it takes, whatever happens to me now...Where I am going...into Darkness...into Hell...there will be no Light. But I will fight...I will do as you have asked,and I will fight. And still I will believe...no matter how Dark...and I will hold on. I will be there...so that you will Endure. And as for the bloody Code,there actually isn't one..." he whispered the last bit...

"But faith is contagious, so I will keep it going...until this ...if it ever is...is over."

John clutched him by the back of his neck,and gasped, smiling through his tears.

"I made _you _a vow ,too, remember? I will lead you home. One day. Somehow. I will scour the World...Sherlock...I..." he swallowed a sob,

"If you are in fragments, I will gather each one, till you are whole again. If you are ashes, I will gather you from the Four Winds. If you are devoured by beasts, I will scrape you from their teeth...But, if God sent me, like you said, then I swear to God!, I WILL find you,and I WILL bring you home...Dead or alive..."

Moran suddenly came back, snapping the watch shut, "Tick,tock,tick tock, it's time to go."

He grabbed Sherlock fiercely under the arms,and John struggled, just as he said he would.

But in the end ,his heart nearly gave out,and his arms turned to jelly. Sherlock reached out a shaking hand as he was pulled away, and John dimly recalled that this had happened before, as he reached out a hand in turn,and their fingers brushed against one another, one last time.

Sherlock was hauled into the back of an armored truck. John never took his eyes off of him, not while he could see him.

And terror had turned to mania in his eyes, because this had happened before, and he _knew _the Hell to which he was going...had been there before.

Still his face was calm,despite his wide with horror eyes...

"Goodbye,John." he croaked as the iron doors creaked,and slammed closed.

_Goodbye._

He had said it AGAIN.

Just as suddenly as the villains appeared, they vanished.

And as if God they spoke of was listening,and came to say His peace, a torrent of rain began to sweep down, with lightning for His rage, and it began to quell the fire in the belly of the haunted sanctuary.

And this would be a scene little Mercy would never forget,so long as she lived.

The sight of the burning church, blazing like sunset,and casting her halo- in -dying over the sick, grey world.

And the sight of the kind Doctor, on his knees, head in his hands.

Shrieking ,absolutely inhuman screams, until his voice was gone.

But ,even now, Mercy believed in heaven, because here was an angel on the ground...

It is the curse of our sad old world, that sanctuary's go down in flames, that Sinners rise to thrones...And only the Angels fall...

Mercy wept then, because she was human, because she had the right to tears.

And the right, regardless, to believe...

**~To Be Continued~**


End file.
